Fiery Passion
by brutalbloodycato
Summary: He remembered the fleeted kisses he shared with her. They were cold and desperate and fearful, and yet filled with such firey passion that he longed for more. / probably really bad but i ship them so much


"What was that? I tell you I like you, and you say '_thanks_'?" Asami's voice was sharp and pointed, and she placed her hands on her hips when she spoke. Iroh cringed internally at the small gesture, at the change in tone, and realised his mistake.

"I'm grateful for your feelings," said Iroh slowly, delicately. "But I cannot reciprocate them."

She drew her eyebrows, pursing her lips. "What do you mean you _can't_?" she asked, frowning. "And I was under the impression that you did, considering you kissed me once or twice or _five_ times only a few days ago."

He felt his heart hammer hard in his throat, felt his hands go sweaty. He remembered the fleeted kisses he shared with her. They were cold and desperate and fearful, and yet filled with such fiery passion that he longed for more. Her lips tasted like fruit, he recalled; and her fingers burned like ice on his flesh, but it had not been painful. More like... enjoyable. They had found warmth in each others tight embraces, and, though he had found that he particularly favoured Asami in a way he could not define, he knew there could be nothing between them.

"And for that I'm sorry, Asami," he said, feeling his heart sink. He wanted so bad to cradle her in his arms, to, perhaps, feel that passionate embrace once more, but he would fight that temptation. He would. He _had_ to.

"So what? You lead me on?" Asami asked, her voice strained. He could tell that she was blinking away tears now, and knew where he had gone wrong. His stomach churned with a guilt unlike any other. "I thought you wouldn't do that, Iroh. I thought you were better than that."

He had been trained to be strong, to fire bend and to fight and to defend, and yet her words tore him apart. Perhaps he was not better than that. Perhaps he was even worse. He swallowed the pain swelling in his chest and spoke, his voice quiet and shaken and so unlike what he was used to. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I really am, Asami."

When he reached out to brush a strand of hair from her cheek in a final, sweet goodbye, she smacked his arm away and recoiled from his touch. She yelled at him this time, letting the tears roll down her face. It was the sound and the sight and the feeling that broke him. The words and the crying and the uncontrollable guilt. "Why? Why would you do that to me? Why would anyone ever subject someone to this... to this _pain_?"

He wondered if these words were directed at him, or, perhaps, to the boy he knew she had fancied. Mako, was it? Another fire bender. He felt another pang of guilt in his chest at the revelation that this was not the first time she had felt this. The poor girl had gone through so much, had she not? Her mother's death, her father betraying the benders, turning her back on him, a boyfriend that loved another, and what else? Too much. Too much for such a young girl.

"You're just a kid," said Iroh stiffly. He found it harder to speak when he met her eye, and decided to keep his gaze locked on her shoes. "It would be wrong of me to do anything in that manner with someone so young."

Asami laughed. "So young? A _kid_? I am _not_ a kid. I'm eighteen-years-old, Iroh. And if you knew half the things I've been through, then you'd understand that I'm so much older than that, mentality-wise."

He did not bother to tell her that he _did_ know what she had been through, that he _did_ think she was older than that in that manner. "You are eighteen, nonetheless."

"So? You're twenty-three, and that's only five years difference! I don't see the issue at hand, because there _isn't_ one," she looked at him incredulously as he spoke. _Of course she would not understand_.

"Five years is a lot, Asami," he said. "And many would frown upon our relationship. It could risk my position in the United Forces. It could risk a lot more than that..."

"Who _cares_ what other people think about us? I don't!" Asami countered. "I like you, and you haven't said you don't like me, isn't that enough?"

"Asami, I -"

"You what? You don't like me, is that it? And those kisses in the snow... those were lies?"

"No, but -"

"No buts, Iroh. You either like me back or you don't. I want a straight answer."

He wanted so bad to say yes. To tell the _truth_. And yet he could not bring himself to say either answer. He had never felt this way for anyone before, had never come across a girl as beautiful and quick-witted and strong as she was. Why was he letting her go? For the United Forces? Was she not worth a thousand - no, _ten_ thousand of those warships? _No_, he answered himself, _she's worth so much more than that_.

"Well?" Asami pressed.

"It doesn't matter. We can't be anything. We could never be. I just wish you would underst -"

She flung herself forward, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders. It was instinct to put his own around her waist and keep her in the air as she crashed her lips against his. It was that fiery passion he had experienced in the snow only a few nights ago all over again. The warmth of her touch against his skin, the warmth of her lips against his own, like ice and like burning flames. So unlike anything else he had ever felt before.

And he _loved_ it.

No.

He loved _her_.

When she pulled away, he wanted to pull her back against him and kiss her over and over again, but he controlled himself, somehow, and simply gawked at her. She folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips once more. "Now speak to me, not as the general of the United Forces, not as royalty, not as someone with the weight of so much on their shoulders. Do you like me?"

He did not pause before answering. "Yes. But it's more than that. So much more."

Colour touched her cheeks. "But I'm not worth it, am I? I'm not worth risking your position or the respect you get from your people."

"No," said Iroh. "You're worth so much more than that, too."

She stepped forward and laced her fingers with his, spreading warmth across his body. "I like you," she said.

He would not repeat his mistake.

"I like you, too."

And that was when he decided that he did not care what everyone else thought. He did not care about those short five years that separated them, that had tried and failed to keep them apart. He was just happy to be able to have her in his arms, to have her with him all the time, to be able to feel what he had felt when they were buried in the snow.


End file.
